


Purely Experimental

by Jenwryn



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-01
Updated: 2008-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mello’s always been good at excusing things, especially his own actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purely Experimental

_Hating you shall be a game  
Played with cool hands  
And slim fingers._  
~ Gwendolyn B. Bennett.

*

Mello hates Near.

It's one of those taken-for-granted facts of life that just about everybody knows - at least, everyone at Wammy's House. The sky is a pale English grey, the grass grows amongst curls of wind-licked weeds along the garden wall, and Mello hates Near. Even Roger knows it; Mello can tell that by the way Roger watches them whenever they're together, even though the older gentleman is much too tactful to ever mention it directly. Mello hates Near so much that he longs to take hold of that passive body and shake it 'til its white-haired head bobbles. Mello wants to squeeze and pinch and hurt the boy, make him blur with tears, hiss out little squeals between his teeth, anything, anything at all to prove Near's human, and to express the profound loathing Mello views him with.

None of which actually bothers the blond boy, to be completely honest. The flickers of violence, the depths of resentment, they make up puzzle-pieces of his own being that he's perfectly familiar with. He's used to them, he doesn't even mind them - and he'd give just about anything for them to be the end of the story, the completion, the culmination of his connection with the albino child.

 

If only.

 

Because it's not that simple.

 

Still. Mello's always been good at excusing things, especially his own actions.

 

If sometimes he finds himself standing there, leaning against a wall and gazing at Near until the seconds drag into long, long minutes, well, that's just him gauging his rival. And if he sometimes finds himself plotting out convoluted plans to make Near look at him in return, well, that's just the kind of depths a brilliant intellect will sink to in the stranglehold of adolescent boredom. And if sometimes he finds himself lying awake in his bed at night, imagining what it would feel like to grab Near and press him up against the library shelves, encyclopaedias bruising his translucent skin as Mello kisses him, kisses him until he squeaks and whimpers and trembles swayingly in Mello's embrace-

 

Well.

 

Even Mello hasn't quite worked out how to explain that one away. Yet. He's pretty sure he will eventually, because he's Mello, yeah, and he's clever, damn straight, and there's nothing that can't be made sense of if you put your mind to it.

 

Of course, the fact that he knows he hates Near does rather limit his explanatory options somewhat, but still-

 

Mello raises one of his feet up and presses the sole of his shoe against the wall behind him. He takes a bite of his chocolate, rolling the square around his mouth slowly. Even from this distance he watches Near breathe, slowly and quietly, as the younger boy plays with his trains. And if Mello's own breathing slows and syncs in time with Near's, well, that's just his concentration on the subject as he tries to understand, tries to find himself a route that will excuse him from these unwelcome... complications.

With a firm push of his sneaker against the wall, Mello propels himself forwards and go and sits on the floor before Near. Predictably, there's not so much as an acknowledgement of his presence, not even a bloody murmur, and it makes him cross, though Mello thinks he hides it behind a cool exterior. He sucks at his chocolate until the long minutes drag into half an hour, and the bar is gone, and the sun is setting. Near still hasn't looked at him directly, though Mello thinks he's maybe seen a few upward glances of those eyes beneath that hair, but he might have imagined it. He crumples the chocolate wrapper into his pocket and then, just because he can, just because he wants to, just because he's so damn annoyed, he reaches out suddenly through the colour of the fading sun, which is slanting down through the glass of the common-room window and staining Near's hair a pink-tinged silver; reaches out through it and touches his fingertips against the boy's face, sliding them through his hair, just above his eyes, and coming to rest upon the bluish pulse at Near's temple.

 

It's just an experiment, Mello tells himself.

He can feel the pulse beat there in a miniature world of it's own, throbbing against his thumbprint.

Near looks up at him, finally, growing still and staring, a shiny green engine held suspended in his hand. He blinks those big eyes of his, impossibly slowly. Just the once.

 

How does he stay so calm? How does he-?

Mello still has his thumb on Near's pulse. He presses down slightly, and then his other fingers join it. Near is warmer than he'd expected, and Mello flattens his palm out against the skin, the contrast of his summer tan almost shocking. In the silence of the otherwise-empty common-room, in the silence of Near's wide-eyed gaze (is that a glimmer of surprise? Could it be?), Mello's hand smooths down the side of Near's face, and backwards, coming to a stop just behind his ear. He can feel the pulse in Near's neck now, flowing and pumping beneath that fine porcelain skin.

So you _are_ alive.

Mello leans in, curious, angry, disbelieving, as he feels that pulse beat a fraction faster.

_Alive._

If Mello kisses Near then... it's only to see his reaction, nothing more.

And the way he pulls back ever-so-slowly, his own dark eyes wide and staring at the boy, the boy he's somehow now holding close with both hands, the green engine discarded and forgotten somewhere between their knees... that has no meaning.

It's purely experimental.

Really.


End file.
